


gone in the morning

by hobijam



Series: pill bottles [1]
Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Brief mentions of suicide, M/M, Mental Health Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-15
Updated: 2017-11-15
Packaged: 2019-02-02 20:59:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12734214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hobijam/pseuds/hobijam
Summary: Jongin loves Sehun, but he can't do everything, not when Sehun doesn't tell him anything.(update: optional happy ending,after i have known you so very intimately, linked as series)





	gone in the morning

**Author's Note:**

> hey so there can be some triggering stuff in this watch out

It’s November. 

The first snow has just come, and it dusts the ground like glitter. Even in the dark of night, it glows, amplifying the yellowed light from the streetlamp cross the road from where Jongin sits, feet dangling off the edge of a rusted fire escape. His breath crystalizes in front of his face, great, silvery clouds that puff out and shiver into thin trails in the breeze. His nose is probably running, but he can’t really tell. His lips are already numb. 

He does this often- takes momentary escapes into the open air of the night, when Sehun’s bedroom seems to small to hold them both. Jongin just needs the time, the seconds alone to come down from an all-consuming high to a more pleasurable buzz, a hum under his skin that makes his fingers shake even when it’s warmer. 

Sehun’s grown used to it, by now. Jongin’s moments. So it’s no surprise that Sehun is already showered and back in bed when Jongin finally clambers through the window. He moans that the air is cold, and rolls to face Jongin, swathed in quilts like a baby in it’s first blanket. He looks so different in these moments. Not worse, not better, just… different. He looks like a softer version of himself, the Sehun Jongin had first seen when they ran into each other in the library, back when everything was new and sweet like sugar. Jongin doesn’t lament the loss of that Sehun, though, because he was never really there to be lost in the first place. The timid, soft man was just a product of circumstance, not personality. 

Jongin shuts the window, and stands awkwardly. His shirt is on backwards, and the tag scratches at his adam’s apple. He swallows, waiting. 

Sehun lifts the quilts, beckoning Jongin into their cocoon. He complies. 

 

Jongin remembers when this was new, when he and Sehun had boundaries. It was always rules on what Jongin could do, not Sehun- he was only welcome as long as the heat lasted, and never allowed to stay to bask in the gentle, softer warmth left afterward. He supposes that then, there wasn’t any warmth afterwards, though. It was all the heat of a firework, impossibly bright one moment and gone to ash in the next. 

He doesn’t know when it changed, but it did. Slowly, Jongin stayed longer. Slowly, he was allowed to hold Sehun, to nestle his face into the crook of his neck and breath in his skin. He doesn’t think he’ll ever know if it means as much to Sehun as it does to him, but he’s not willing to risk everything fighting to find out. Defining what they have could be the end of it. With so many rules broken already, acknowledging the change could put on too much of a dissonance. A strain that snaps the thin threads that have tentatively connected the two after all this time. 

But Jongin is content, how could he not be? He has two arms wrapped around him on cold nights, someone to sleep beside and wake up next to. He’s more in love with Sehun than he’ll admit to anyone. There’s nothing he can do about it but wait, feel his emotions without judgement. Sometimes he wishes it was just a one night stand. They’re in too deep to just forget each other now. 

 

—

 

It’s January. 

The ball drops, and Jongin spends New Years alone. He hasn’t heard from Sehun since Christmas, but it’s something he’s had to force himself to get used to after the first few times. The loneliness can be crushing, but it’s all worth it when Sehun comes back.  
There’s no doubt, he will come back. It’s just a matter of time. 

Jongin has his theories, but Sehun’s never so much as said a word about where he goes. The most compelling is one he’s observed in the past few months, as he’s watched the flow of small orange pill bottles in and out of Sehun’s bathroom cabinet. It’s only when they empty that Sehun disappears. And it’s only when he returns that they are full again. 

Jongin doesn’t know what the pills mean, or why there are so many. One piece of his brain pokes at him- the answers are only a moment away, spent in the bathroom with the google search bar open, along with the mirror cabinet. But something feels so wrong about it. Sehun trusts Jongin enough to let him into his home, give him a spot on the sink for his toothbrush, a set of ratty old slippers by the door. It would be a breach of this trust to probe into what Sehun still keeps hidden. 

Whenever Jongin finds himself looking at that mirror for too long, he washes his hands in the sink, and looks away from his reflection. 

 

Sehun’s nothing but gentle, on or off of his pills. There’s something untamed in his eyes, the gleam of a storm not yet dispersed, but he doesn’t let that energy spill out, at least, not when he’s with Jongin. With Jongin, he is careful. He chooses his words slowly, schools his expressions to be inviting. It’s easy for him to slip into a coldness of both speech and face. 

He joins Jongin on the fire escape tonight, pulls out a crumpled menthol cigarette and just holds it between his fingers. Sehun hasn’t smoked around Jongin, not after he asked him not to. But he holds them sometimes, accidentally lifts them to his lips before realizing there’s nothing to inhale. Jongin knows he just likes the feel of it in his hands, trapped between his index and middle fingers. 

“It’s cold.” Sehun says. Jongin nods. 

“Your room stinks.” 

Sehun laughs, tipping his head back and looking up at the sky through the bars of the fire escape above. Dark bruises are beginning to form where his neck meets his shoulder. The soft skin is raised in goosebumps, Sehun is shaking just a little bit. “I think we both have to do with that.” 

Jongin doesn’t respond, just leans his head idly against Sehun. He wonders if this is love, the thump in his chest that drives his head a little crazy. It probably is, but he’ll keep quiet about it. Sehun might not feel the same way. 

They do all the things that couples do, actually. Jongin has taken Sehun out on dates, they remember birthdays, spend the holidays together. They share things and make love and Jongin almost lives with Sehun at this point- he’s in Sehun’s apartment for all the time that Sehun himself is. 

Yes, Jongin can say that he loves Sehun. 

 

— 

 

It’s March

The earliest rain that can be called a spring shower is falling onto the ground. Jongin can’t go out onto the fire escape without getting wet, like Sehun, who’s emerging from the shower, head wrapped in a towel like a beauty queen. 

He’s home again, finally. He’d been missing for about two weeks, and Jongin hadn’t even been able to predict it this time; Sehun’s pill bottles were not empty. Jongin wishes he could know. He asks Sehun where he disappears to, sometimes. He always freezes for a moment, like he never thought the question would ever come up. And then, quietly, he just says, ‘away.’ Jongin doesn’t expect to even get a half-answer like that on the pills, so he tucks away the words that form on his lips for a different time. 

If Jongin wants to love Sehun, he’ll have to come to terms with maybe never knowing. It’s hardly healthy. His friend Chanyeol tells him that enough to make his ears bleed whenever he bums around their apartment while Sehun is gone. But Jongin wants Sehun. He wants the nights they spend just talking, whispering across the pillowcase. He wants the mornings he wakes up in bony arms. He wants the smile that makes Sehun’s eyes disappear. And that’s enough. Chanyeol doesn’t understand, sometimes. His heart is in the right place, but he doesn’t know how Jongin feels in his own. 

Sehun settles into bed, next to Jongin. His hair always soaks the pillowcase like this, but he doesn’t seem to mind. He doesn’t even wake up with awful bed hair, either. His hair dries into perfect waves. It’s a lot like Sehun. He’s perfect despite the circumstances. 

Jongin drops a hand onto Sehun’s stomach, several shades lighter. A pale, knotted scar runs along the right side, old enough to be flattened and dull but still fresh enough to be slightly purple. Jongin’s curious about that one. Curious about all of them, really. There’s a keloid pearl on the side of Sehun’s adam’s apple, randomly spaced lines up and down his arms. Acne scars form pits in his cheeks, but Jongin has those too. And knows what they’re from. 

“My bear fighting prize.” Sehun laughs, and the skin of his stomach jumps under Jongin’s gentle fingers. When Jongin had first touched the scar, Sehun had recoiled like it burned. Now, he makes up a new story every time Jongin sees it, and is the only one that laughs. 

Jongin removes his hand, places his head in its spot instead. “I missed you.” 

Sehun sighs. Jongin sees his fingers twitch. They want a cigarette. They’re stressed. 

“I missed you too. More than you know.” 

Jongin can’t speak for a moment, the words he’s practiced saying too many times getting stuck in his chest like tar. “Then why do you leave?” He finally forces out. 

Sehun doesn’t answer. His chest rises and falls evenly, a slight snore drifting along with it. He’s asleep. Jongin should be too. 

 

—

 

May

Two months of paradise, and Sehun is gone again. His bottles had been empty for two weeks before he left. His behavior had changed, just the slightest. Nothing about his love had dimmed, but his fear… 

The blinds stayed shut, at all times. Slowly, Sehun stopped using his phone, then computer, then television. Jongin had to get the building’s guard to walk him in because Sehun wouldn’t even answer the voice buzzer. Jongin caught him swatting around his head sometimes, like there were flies buzzing. 

They were still together more often than apart. Sehun was still soft, and kind, and loving. There were just certain ways he had to live, certain rules he had to follow and procedures that couldn’t be broken. Jongin didn’t understand, but he didn’t have to. Sehun was himself. Jongin… didn’t know what he was getting into, that night that he’d stayed. But he learned along the way, and he wouldn’t trade the time he’s spent with Sehun for any sort of normalcy. 

 

Chanyeol rolls up to the parking shelter, across the drive from the condo he and Jongin share. He’s got people in his car, and Jongin doesn’t necessarily feel like talking today. He cuts the engine, and voices spill out. Jongin gets up quickly, slides the dingy window shut in his bedroom, and falls under the covers. 

Baekhyun and Jongdae are giggling together about something while Chanyeol characteristically struggles with his keys. There’s been alcohol involved, and Chanyeol probably shouldn’t have driven, especially with equally inebriated passengers. They stumble into the house, and not long after, there’s the telltale clink of Chanyeol going through the liquor cabinet. His big hands aren’t good for being sneaky. 

There’s a knock on Jongin's door. 

“Go away.” Jongin says. 

Kyungsoo doesn’t go away. Instead, he marches right into the room, yanks the covers off of Jongin, and ignores the fact that Jongin is in a hoodie that’s been unwashed for days and boxers with a hole in the ass. “Put pants on and come out with us.” 

Jongin shakes his head, pointing to a book on his nightstand. “I’m busy.” It’s a lie. He doesn’t even know the title of the thing. Kyungsoo sighs, like the weight of the world is on his shoulders, and sits down in bed next to Jongin.

“How long has it been since you seen him?” 

“Two weeks.” Jongin feels his eyes prick even at the mention of the length of time. 

“This isn’t good for you. What kind of boyfriend just up and- this isn’t good for you.” Kyungsoo grumbles,crossing his arms and looking down at Jongin, without doing much to move his head. It’s a side glance, one very effective for intimidation. Jongin doesn’t know why he’s receiving it. 

“He’s not my boyfriend.” Jongin says. Sehun probably would agree. Jongin doesn’t, but it’s easier to say because Kyungsoo is right- what boyfriend would do this, over and over? 

“Then why are you so fucked up over it?” 

Jongin groans, rolling over so his face is pressed into his stained mattress. The sheets were dirty, so he took them off but never replaced them. It’s gross. Like Jongin. Like Sehun. It isn’t that simple. Kyungsoo knows that, the asshole is just being intentionally obtuse. Sehun may not be Jongin’s boyfriend, but he’s even more than that in Jongin’s mind and heart. 

“It’s not so simple.” 

Kyungsoo grimaces. “You’re the one making it that way, Jongin. Just walk away like he does. Don’t wait like a puppy at the door for him to come back.” 

He has a point, Jongin hates it but he really does. Jongin has always waited for Sehun, always been there to catch him. But he just keeps doing it. Promising to stay and then disappearing the next morning. Jongin is so endlessly exhausted of it. “I love him, though.” Jongin thinks out loud. 

“Love doesn’t always fix everything.” Kyungsoo says, and stands. He tells Jongin to come out when he’s ready, and shuts the door quietly behind himself. Jongin pulls his comforter off the floor, and resumes wallowing. 

He loves Sehun, he loves him so much. How much does he have to do for Sehun to see it and stay? 

 

—  


It’s September. 

Six months. 

Jongin is tipsy, not quite buzzed but not quite drunk. He’s working on it. A bottle of cheap wine is uncorked in his lap, and the news is playing, a constant drone in the background of Jongin’s thoughts. What a picture he is. Getting drunk alone, crying over the boy that up and left without any warning. It’s been months, but everything hurts like the first day Jongin began to realize Sehun wasn’t coming back. Ever. The rent on Sehun’s apartment ran out and Jongin had to scramble to pull his favorite belongings off the curbside before the garbage men came. Sehun’s phone was among those things, and Jongin keeps it, dead, in his nightstand, like Sehun will want it when- if- he ever comes back. 

How does it still hurt so much? Jongin feels like a piece of him is missing. He was never supposed to be so attached. Never supposed to fall in love. Had Sehun even loved him at all? It haunts him. Jongin will never know the answer. 

Jongin raises the green glass bottle to his lips, and coughs when the door bangs like it’s going to go off of it’s hinges. 

“Jongin, come out.” 

An unfamiliar, raspy voice calls from the other side of the flimsy wood. Dropping the bottle on the table with a sigh, Jongin ignores his best judgement and opens the door, just a crack, with the chain lock on. 

A ratty looking punk stands outside, a cigarette smoking from somewhere on his body and wafting acrid smoke into the condo. His face is a mess of metal and his body, tattoos, and he looks entirely grungy and undesirable. It’s Zitao. Sehun’s best friend. Jongin’s met him a few times, but for some reason, Sehun’s always kept the two separate. He said Zitao would say the wrong things about Sehun, and Jongin would never talk to him again. 

Well, Jongin’s ready to hear the bad things now. Anything to make him less hopelessly in love. 

“Took you long enough.” Zitao shoves his cigarette between his lips, crassly blowing his smoke too close to Jongin’s face. “Do you want to see Sehun?” 

“No.” Jongin finds his courage, and goes to shut the door. 

Zitao shoves his steel-toed boot into the small gap between the door and the frame. “I take it back.” He says. “You _have_ to see Sehun. It’s time. You won’t be able to again, I don’t think.” Zitao’s voice hitches, just a bit, when he says the last bit. 

Something about this sobers Jongin, and he finds himself pulling on a pair of jeans from the laundry pile on the couch. They’re Chanyeol’s, and bunch at the ankles and cling to his thighs uncomfortably, but all that’s on Jongin’s mind is what’s meant by Zitao’s voice. 

“Where is he?” Jongin asks. 

“St. Lucia’s.” St. Lucia is the hospital, two towns over. It’s the one with the largest ICU in the state. Jongin feels his blood go cold. Zitao flies down the balcony steps, throwing himself into a car that probably hasn’t passed a smog test in years. 

“It gets worse.” Zitao peels out of the parking lot, giving the car all he has as they rip their way down the highway. Jongin would normally be afraid for many reasons- he would be afraid of driving fast, of going to the hospital, of Zitao in general- but the overwhelming terror of what Sehun could be doing at St. Lucia’s is all that he can feel. It makes his body shake, bones rattle. He feels like if a needle were to touch him, he would pop like a swollen balloon. 

“Sehun’s been in a coma since May. He downed a whole bottle of Xanax. Fucker didn’t think about what would happen if he didn’t die.” Zitao grits his teeth. “You know anything about this?” 

“I never looked at his pills.” Jongin truthfully admits. Should he have looked at them? Gotten rid of something so dangerous as Xanax? 

“Well, the Xanax wasn’t his. But he’d been off of his prescriptions. I’m sure you noticed.” 

“What’s- why does he need them?” 

Zitao shakes his head. “Fucking prick. He didn’t tell you anything, did he?” 

Helplessly, Jongin nods. He’s been thrust into the side of Sehun’s world that he never even knew existed, and feels like he’s going to drown. “He got… afraid. Told me things like the government was watching and the phones were tapped. I thought it was weird but everyone has a quirk-“ 

“His quirk is paranoid schizophrenia.” Zitao interrupts coldly. “He’s an irresponsible child for not telling you, for not getting help, for not taking his meds- _fuck_!” He honks the horn at nobody. The highway is empty. 

“He was gone, wasn’t he? Disappeared, like a ghost. He used to do that to me, too.” Zitao presses a bony hand to Jongin’s shoulder. “Turns out those gaps in time were spent in the psych ward. God knows how many times he’s been there. That scar on his neck? He stabbed himself there, right in front of me. And his stomach was a different time. He’s jumped off bridges, taken pills, broken the closet rod his noose was hanging from… I tried so hard Jongin.” Zitao sniffles. “I tried to take care of him, I wanted to tell you so that you could too… he just wanted to die, so bad.” 

Jongin feels hot tears leak from his eyes. He feels like he himself has been stabbed. A molten hot fire poker is ripping around in his stomach. He might throw up. 

“He was so happy with you, though.” Zitao says, quietly. “So happy- Jongin- you gave him something I never knew how. You brought something into his life that made him want to wake up in the morning.” 

“Not enough.” Jongin stares at his hands, curled in his lap. Never enough, he was never enough. Sehun is in a coma, Sehun is dying, Jongin couldn’t help him because he never opened his eyes to what the fuck was going on. 

“His parents- They’re going to pull the plug at the end of the month.” Zitao says, when the car falls into a deathly still silence. “They don’t want us to visit, but the night nurses went to school with my sister. They'll let you in with me.” 

Sehun is going to die. If he isn’t dead already. Is being in a coma living? 

Jongin- Jongin has to say goodbye. He never said goodbye to Sehun, only hello. Never got the chance, because he never knew when Sehun was going to be gone. Now, he knows just when Sehun will leave, but he won’t even hear his goodbye.  What has he done to deserve this? What has Sehun done to deserve this? Jongin used to be able to see them together forever. He used to see Sehun leaving less and less, the pill bottles- the damn pill bottles- staying full and safe. He used to think of Sehun’s face in the morning, wrinkled from the bunched up sheets. Of how he would look when there would be lines at the corners of his eyes from smiling. How he would look dressed up for a wedding. How he would look next to Jongin, through anything and everything. 

Now, in his hospital bed, Sehun just looks dead. His eyes are sunken into his head, his hair is overgrown and greasy. His skin is white as the sheets and his veins glow blue under it. Tubes protrude from everywhere, the beep of machines is deafening in the silent room. Zitao cries next to Jongin, both of them leaning on each other because they’re too wounded to stand. 

Move your hand, Jongin begs. Just a finger. Blink your eye. Please. 

Sehun stays still. His hands are cold. 

 

—

 

It’s September, still. 

Zitao gives Jongin Sehun’s suicide letter. They’d finally found it, when Jongin gave back Sehun’s phone. 

It’s all about how much he loves him. How Jongin couldn’t save him, but came closer than anyone else ever had. 

Jongin cries for three days, and then goes dry. 

He is empty for three weeks, then breathes the winter air for the first time in months. 

Sehun is dead, and Jongin must move on. 

 

_(It’s September, even later._

_Sehun wakes up._

_Men in white surround him, and he’s taken away, wrists and ankles bound in leather._

_He doesn’t know when he’ll see the sun unobscured by a tinted window again._

_On the first night he’s permitted to sleep without sedatives, he dreams of Jongin.)_

**Author's Note:**

> okay i promise i don't only write angst for exo this trend needs to Stop  
> i'm working on a happy lovely 50s au sekai to sort of make up for this one though? so stay tuned  
> please leave a comment!  
> talk to me about it at btsdadd or dadhakyeon on tumblr!
> 
> update: read the happy ending [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/13902573)


End file.
